


Hello Stranger

by impossiblesongs



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Series, crackshipping at its finest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2018-10-24 14:17:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10743399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblesongs/pseuds/impossiblesongs
Summary: Various prompts.(This is for no purpose other than my sister, who wanted Cook x Cassie crackshipping. Takes place after Skins: Pure & Skins: Rise.)





	1. Neighbors

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Not my characters. This has been a disclaimer.  
> 

 

            The clock at the bedside says it’s earlier than he’d like but Cook gets up and out of bed anyway. There’s no point in going back to sleep when he’d only be walking back into a nightmare. From the dreary blackness painted outside his window he’s willing to bet the sun’s not risen yet either. S’alright. He’ll fix himself a cuppa and distract himself some. It’s better than the alternative.

 

When he’s made decent work of his tea, he finds himself dragging the nearest chair over to the windowsill and sitting down. Waiting. A nice little Pixie Fairy’s moved into the flat across his before Christmas hols. She’s far too skinny for his liking, pale and doe-eyed with long blonde hair. From what he’s glimpsed of her, she’s a bit peculiar. A tad disconnected with the reality around her only not in a way that’s completely bonkers. It’s childlikeness and it’s refreshing.

 

That whimsicalness, he’s noticed, disappears when a kid shows up. Younger than her but far too old to be her own child. A younger brother perhaps. She’s a worrier when he’s around. Tense and jittery in the mornings and downright exhausted by the end of her day. The little brother only stays for a week or so before taking off.

 

It’s not that he’s gone full voyeur on the bird (he’s never been that type of creep) but the flats of the complex are designed to stand side by side to the others and it just so happens that her window is right parallel to his. Now they’ve never spoken a word to each other, each quite content to carry on in their own world, perfectly safe in their own space, but that’s not to mean they haven’t taken noticed of one another. If the Pixie Fairy catches his eye across the flats she gives him a sweet little half-smile and he’ll nod his head in return.

 

Civil, s’what they are. They carry on with their lives outside their flats. Lives neither knows about, nor asks. They mind their own fucking business and keep to themselves, and Cook likes that. Appreciates it. He gets the sense that she appreciates the slight air of anonymity their shared glances grant them, too. That small ounce of respect given without either having asked for it. Of neither butting in, intruding spaces nor expecting something more.

 

It has allowed them both to become a willing pair strangers, comfortable enough to offer glimpses of themselves when the world is shut out behind closed doors. Granting permission to a singular audience from the glass pane of a windowsill and trusting that it ends there.

 

Besides, if one of them needed the privacy, they can sure as fuck shut the blinds.

 

The Pixie Fairy is busy setting down a medium sized cardboard box on the carpet of her living space today. He recognizes the small items she pulls out as Christmas ornaments. From the variety of 'em she sets down, she only picks one, hunching her back over and then settling back to a sitting position, her head tilted to the side. She gathers the rest of the ornaments back into the box and takes it away. Only then does Cook get a glimpse of the small scrawny excuse of a Christmas tree set down on the floor, a twig in all actuality, with one ornament clinging to the strongest branch.

 

Cook finishes the last of his tea and pushes up from the chair. He reckons he ought to get dressed for work. The day plays out as it always does. Tedious and repetitious as it is, it’s still nerve-racking. He’s still looking over his shoulder at every turn, paranoid that his past will catch up at any moment. By the time he gets back to his flat around midnight the seclusion four walls offer him is more than welcomed.

 

A glance through the window before he goes to bed shows that the ornament Pixie Fairy had placed in the early hours of the morning has continued to cling feebly, only it has weighed down upon the ‘tree’ so that the branch is now touching the floor. It makes him smile.


	2. Don't Trust Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Don’t trust me."

“Don’t trust me,” he says, holding her in his arms, happier than he’s got any right to be. “You hear me, girlie?” he nudges her in the ribs with his thumb, unable to keep a smile off his face despite his warning.

 

“Mmhh,” Cassie grunts, sleepy eyed and genuinely unbothered. Her blonde hair is a messy mop atop her head, shimmying around the pillows as she burrows closer, fitting herself like a second skin against him. “Whatever you say, JimJam,” she mumbles his appointed nickname, exhaling contently and spreading her limbs around them like a cat.

 

Cook smiles wider. It hurts.

 

“Don’t you JimJam me,” he whispers into her ear, curling himself around her, quite helpless to it. He wants her warmth forever.

 

“I’ll pretend to do anything you say and then do things my way,” says Cassie, smiling her half-smile and glancing over at him. He’s already staring, utterly unimpressed. So tired and joyous she feels, face inches from his, that she laughs and laughs. A chime of noise that makes every other sound go silent in his head, nothing matters except her. Her arms reach over to wrap around his neck and she presses her lips against his for a kiss. “I won’t ever trust you, JimJam, promise. I promise you, if it makes you happy,” she avows. “Never, ever, ever.”

 

Cook hums against her lips, content enough to keep kissing her for as long as she’d allow him to, completely forgetting why driving his point across was important.

 

“That’s my girl,” he says instead.

 

They fall asleep like that. Kissing and entangled in a bed full of promises they never intended to keep.


	3. Bruise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bruise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** mentions of physical violence

It’s easy to spot, even when he’s just getting in at the other end of the shop.

 

The shoddy lighting does nothing to help. Right now it’s simply highlighting the injury that’s no one’s fucking mistake, that’s certain. A bubble of dark purpled-crimson blood has gathered itself, hanging beneath Cass’s left eye, swollen out half of her cheekbone so her face looks lopsided at any angle.

 

“Cass, what the fucks happened to you?” He’s jumped round the cashiers counter and tipped her face up so he can examine the injury. Whoever’s come in here and roughed her up, he’ll find them. They ain’t got nowhere to hide from him, not a chance.  

 

“They came in looking for someone,” Cassie mumbles timidly. She tells him that there had been four of them in possession of a picture, a person they were after. How they didn’t believe her at first, hence the shiner on her eye. They’d begun with a few slaps and other threats. She'd mouthed off and was met with a full fist in the face. That one satisfied them best, it seemed, because they turned around and left, one after the other, not a glance back or a care.

 

“They were looking for you, Cook. They want you.”

 

He was fetching some ice from the machines at the side of them and wrapping it around his handkerchief, focused on pressing the cloth against her cheek just so, that he nearly misses what she’s called him.

 

He’s Jimmy here. Jim Claire. Has been since the day he was hired, since the day he met her.

 

Cook doesn’t make eye contact. He takes great care in being as gentle as he can dealing with the swelling of her skin. Tiny little Cass, all bloodied and bruised and not giving an inch for any of it. She’s a marvel, this one.

 

“You could’ve called the police,” his suggestion sits in the air and it twists a little knife in his heart, a twinge of something that feels a lot like heartbreak. Cassie’s never been anything but sound to him and a genuine person to work with and he’s not about to run out on her like she’s worth only a second’s thought. If she knew who he was and she stayed quiet, he’s interested in reasons. “Why didn’t you?”

 

“Wow,” Cassie says, glaring at him. Brown eyes accusing him of being seven kinds of stupid and he must be because he honestly doesn’t get it. She’s a good girl, of that he can see and has seen. She’s got no reason to suffer trouble nor any obligation to suffer it from the likes of him. She’d already been working at this shop when he’d applied and gotten hired, eight months back. He sees her every day, the proper nine to five job, what’s she owe to a nobody like him for?

 

"Fuck you," Cassie shoves him away, heads to the Ladies. 

 

Cook stands there behind the counter with a bloodied rag full of ice hanging midway in the air, ice melting already and dripping down his wrist. He knows he should get the fuck out of here. Leave for the safety of those like Cassie and anyone else he might have brought this mess of his into. 

 

Cassie's surprised when Cook barges through the Ladies toilets, finds her and crowds her into the stall, says, "You're not the first bird who said 'fuck you' to my face without trying to say something so out with it, Cass. Tell me because I'm obviously too thick in the head with my own bullshit, if you've got something to say, say it."

 

"I like you," Cassie admits. "And I know. I've always known."


	4. Prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Prison

His name is being hollered. Cook sighs but rolls out of his bunk and stands, going over towards the cell door and sticking his wrists out. The officer, it’s Karl today, slaps a pair of cuffs around his wrists.

 

“And what’s the meaning of this, then?” Cook asks. He’s built a rapport with Karl so he can mouth off some so long as he’s not outright disrespectful.

 

“You should know,” Karl responds, “you’re wearing the evidence on your face.”

 

Cook smiles, cheeky, his busted up face inching up in pain but it’s worth it. Karl extracts him from his cell and leads him up to confinement visiting rooms in silence. He’s deposited into a room and cuffed to the table, told to wait for a social worker to come by and speak to him. Cook’d much rather be nodding off in his cell on a Sunday like this, his cellmate currently in solitary. He could even have a wank. Both peace and wanks are hard to keep to yourself in a place like this. Everyone is in everyone else’s business here.

 

It feels like he waits longer than he should but Cook doesn’t mind, he’s learned how to occupy patience in all things in here, especially when they liked to punish you by letting you stew and rot away all on your lonesome.

 

The door at the opposite of his view is opened, half ajar while voices converse, then she’s walking in. A slip of a girl with pretty blonde hair and a file in her hands walks inside. She takes him in before offering a tiny smile and taking her seat across from him.

 

“Hello, my name is Cassie,” she introduces herself. “I’m here to offer my counsel in whatever you might need, or an ear to listen. Whichever you’d prefer.”

 

Cook’s brains is all sort of indecent when he conjures up what he’d actually prefer but he keeps that to himself, no need to scare this bird away with talk like that. It’s just not proper.

 

“How long have you been in here, Cook?” Cassie queries.

 

Cook waves a hand in gesture, the cuffs at his wrist jingling at the action, “Shouldn’t you know that stuff already?”

 

“I’ve read your file, yes,” Cassie confirms, “but I’m asking you.”

 

Her eyes are a deep brown and they bore into him without fear, he quite likes that. Not many people would come in here and stare down a murderer like she’s just done.

 

“What’s a posh girl like you doing in a place like this?” he wonders aloud, because her presence here doesn’t compute with his vision of prison. Shouldn’t do. She’s a good looking girl, she should be far and away from these places.

 

Cassie appears irritated at his wandering away from her narrative but she schools her features behind a smile. “If I answer your questions will you answer mine?”

 

“Well that’d be dead fair, wouldn’t it?” Cook leans back in his chair and spreads his legs underneath the table.

 

“I’m here to complete my hours,” she tells him. “I’m trying to become a social worker for children but part of the program I’m in is to get experience as a public servant and this was an option. Come by to the prison and offer counsel or the benefit of human company to those in need.”

 

Cook cracks a smile. “Four years and eight months. Bugger the days, it’s monotonous. I just get to the end of the month on the calendar and go from there.”

 

“Thank you,” Cassie smiles but this time it’s full of gratitude, radiant. Like the sun he’s not seen but in glimpses when he’s allowed to go outside. She hurriedly scribbles something down in her notes before turning her attention back on him. “You seem a bit ragged today,” she comments, “would you mind sharing what happened to your face?”

 

Cook sniffs and crosses his arms over his chest, “Nah. Sorry.”

 

“That’s okay,” she says, taking it in stride. “Anything you would like to talk about?”

 

Cook shrugs. Cassie starts to go into what they have in his file, telling him what’s written inside the pages and asking him if he has anything to add or deny. He feels strangely grateful for the opportunity.

 

They don’t touch the reason he’s in here. The murder or of Freddie’s murder. As the hour comes up and Karl comes to fetch him back, Cook feels lighter, like he’s just been given a breath of fresh air. Cassie asks him if he’d like her to return and Cook says he’d like that very much.

 

Just before Karl leads him out of the visitor’s room he stops, turns his face and says, “You’re not scared of me, are you Cass?”

 

Cassie grins rather madly, says, “Oh, I’m not scared of anything.”

 

Cook believes her.


	5. Saving You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Please come off from there."
> 
> WARNING: suicide attempt

"Please come off from there."

The young countess's fingers inadvertently tighten around the metal railing she currently clung, of which safety resided swiftly on the other side. She glanced behind her back, curious to spy on the face that has inclined themselves to save her.

He's young. He could even be younger than her. Dark hair, dark eyes. He looks like he could haul her over the railing and onto his shoulders and never break a sweat, only he's chosen to just stand there, motionlessly lingering. He's parked himself ten feet away at best and doesn't seem particularly interested in nearing.

"Go away," she says, turning forward and glancing out below, down to the bottom where the rest of the party goes on and the people look like tiny blots blurring the longer she stares. There, where she intended to end it all.

"Sorry, but that's not in my pay grade, miss," he responds. "I'm going to have to ask you again to please come back down from there."

"Or you'll what?" she asks, her voice shrill and savage to her ears. She'd wipe the pesky tears sliding down her cheeks but that would mean releasing hold of the railing and she's very intent on deciding when the moment to fall will come, she's in control here, and not a moment before.

Just then the railing beings to shake, impacted by something or someone. It's only when she glances on over does she see this man, this guard or whoever he fancies himself being, has climbed over and perched himself, mirroring her exact position.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she demands.

The man only offers her a manic smile, nodding over to the crowd on the floor, joyfully oblivious of their current crisis. "We'd make an impression on the dance floor at least."

Cassie only realizes it's a joke when he throws his head back and cackles some. She likes a bit of morbidity with her humor. It's something Sidney's never truly gotten.

Sidney. Her husband of less than a year. The one she'd just caught having an affair with the new duchess, the one they're all celebrating tonight, Chelle Stonem.

"You know a lot of dames catch their lords with their hands up other birds knickers here, most of them turn the blind eye. Others do the same with someone else's husband. Rarely do I come across one who minds."

She wonders why he's telling her this, what his point must be, if there even is one.

"You mind a lot, by the looks of it."

Cassie looks at the man beside her, this man who is mad enough to join a virtual stranger side by side while she carries on her attempt to escape from all her suffering, all the while grinning at her like it's going to be just fine either way. 

"What's your name?" Cassie asks.

"I'm Cook," he says. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, missus. I'd shake your hand but, well, we're at the edge of the world quite literally now aren't we?"

Cassie looks back out, down to the people dancing and gossiping at the gathering held below.

She hates them, all of them. She hates Sidney the most.

"Have you been at the edge of the world before, Cook?" Cassie wonders, her eyes wide open and heart feeling much too ravaged to be her own.

Cook sighs, responding truthfully, "Somehow, wherever I go, the edge of the world finds me."

And Cassie has never related more to a sentiment in her entire life. She swallows it down, eats it right up.

"Can you help me back over, Cook?"

Cook climbs over the rails easily, all agile and grace. He takes hold of Cassie's hand as she turns firstly and then cups a palm at the area above her elbow before securing a more permanent hold around her waist, pulling her back towards safety. He sets her down back on solid ground with an astonishing amount of delicacy.

Cassie moves to face the railings she was hanging over and then down to examine the ring (just shy of eight months old) that sits on her ring finger. She tugs it off, the item more than offending in this light, and tosses it. It falls over, where she was intending to follow, but she turns her back to it and doesn't offer it another glance or grant it any more mind.

At her side, this Cook is still surveying her actions with a most impolite curiosity. She should send him away, knows he would go if she did.

She doesn't.


	6. iPod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "iPod"

There’s sleet on the side of the road and she’s a whisp of a thing standing there. He’s not keen on another dead body resting on his conscience, so he stops. He pushes the door open.

 

“Going anywhere in particular?” he offers neutrally.   

 

The bird clambers inside, making the car shake slightly from the force she drops herself in on the passenger’s side.

 

“Just drive.” Cook hears her mutter, short and clipped. 

 

He does.

 

The song playing on his iPod ends and another comes on. It’s not necessarily a guilty pleasure, he’s not ashamed exactly, but there’s a flush to his skin that he can’t force away once it's playing. 

 

“You’re not serious?” Wide brown eyes accuse. The first real glimpse he gets of her. The bits of blonde at her roots are coming in through the brown dye. 

 

“What, you don’t like the message?” he snaps. “Too fucking positive for you or summat?”

 

She bristles firstly and pulls her shoddy coat closer to her body then quiets, a frown settling deeper on her features.

 

“Listen you don’t have to like it but it’s my car.” Cook defends, because he feels he should. Mad, that. He sniffs condescendingly. “What poncy shite would you rather?”

 

“Not fucking Lady Gaga!” she sneers, uppity about it.

 

“It’s about girls!” he half-shouts, so fucking bothered. She’s been in his car less than twenty seconds! “ _Hey girl, hey girl._ That’s for you, I reckon. Don’t hear her saying my name, fucks sake!”

 

She doesn’t answer, instead stares at the windshield despondently.

 

The song drones on. It usually puts him in a mellow mood, he can hum along, but now with her presence it’s putting his teeth on edge.

 

“You always have this effect?” he asks. “Shit all over people’s happy places? S’that your thing?”

 

“I fucking hate you!” Comes her usual response.

 

“And I fucking hate you,” he says. 

 

It’s been a week of this fight mingling between the pair of them. The first one since the wedding. The honeymoon period is definitely over.  

 

“Get some chips,” Cassie mumbles at him after an age, her voice light as if the 'hate yous' are in the past and all’s forgiven. 

 

Cook breathes out through his nose, calming himself, and glances on over. Her fingers playing with the ring sitting on her ring finger and she’s smiling, full teeth, and fuck him because it’s the most endearing thing he’s ever seen in all his life.

 

He makes a U-turn towards the chippie two blocks back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This one was purposefully misleading. If you didn't catch on, Cass & Cook do know each other though the beginning makes it out like they don't. They're a newlywed couple here who are in-between their first row.
> 
> The song playing on the iPod was [Hey Girl by Lady Gaga](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q5VCp4yIhh4)

**Author's Note:**

> I am not completely certain this will stay as a one-shot. Depends on the feedback and if you or my sister have any Cook/Cassie prompts you'd like me to have a go at.


End file.
